


Pretty in Pink

by Sorted



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bull's fetish, Laundry mishap, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 07:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15286242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorted/pseuds/Sorted
Summary: Dorian learns things about laundry and the Iron Bull.





	Pretty in Pink

**Author's Note:**

> I know "sexy underwear" stories are fun, but I always find them a little anachronistic for Thedas. I picture most people kitted out in that incredibly drab underwear from Origins (although I admit, that was Ferelden). I guess if you're a hoity-toity noble in Orlais you'd wear something impractical and uncomfortable, but most people would never see stuff like that.
> 
> So this is an "accidental sexy underwear" story, and in my head canon, the characters are only vaguely aware of the concept of lingerie and have never used it nor intended to. :)

Saving the world could be terribly mundane, between battles. For example: laundry.

Dorian had never done his own washing before. Even in his direst straits there had been laundresses available for hire. As indeed there were in Skyhold, but they had enough to do to keep up with the linens for Skyhold’s many guests and, of course, Evelyn. When it came to one’s own clothing—particularly one’s bloodstained robes—even the Inner Circle were on their own.

Thus Dorian had been given his first lesson in doing laundry.

“Here’s the cauldron, here’s your paddle. Start with your whites. Boil the water and keep stirring. Then you fish everything out, lay it on this wall, let it cool. Wring it out, hang it up. Then boil your colored things. Anything stained, here’s the basin and the lye; scrub it first.” A critical look at his robes. “You’ll want to put most of _that_ in a tub with vinegar to get out all that blood.”

Dorian had questions, but he felt that the laundress had said about as much as she could without spitting on him, so he thanked her and got to work.

It seemed that most of the task involved standing over a large fire and a massive boiling cauldron. He didn’t mind the heat—he _very much_ minded how badly the humidity was making his hair curl. He kept pushing his fingers through it, trying to smooth it, but it was an absent-minded gesture.

Most of his attention had drifted over to the training ring. The Chargers were sparring.

The nice thing about laundry was…well, no one wondered why one was sweating.

Dorian absently stirred and stirred and watched the Bull swing his war hammer. He was loathe to admit it, even to himself, but that qunari had an impressive physique, and watching him train was practically hypnotic. Dorian had a feeling he was going to need a drink tonight—after bathing and fixing his hair—and if he ended up above the tavern again…well.

It was only when the Chargers completed their drills and departed that Dorian began to fish the clothing out of the cauldron and noticed.

Everything seemed to be…pink.

_Hmm. Perhaps white clothing turns pink in boiling water._ He had no idea. It was strange and he’d never seen it before. The laundress hadn’t said anything about things turning pink, though…so he assumed it was just to be expected and began to lay things out to drip off and cool.

He wrung everything out and hung it up, oblivious to the looks and smiles of those passing, and waited for everything to return to its usual color as it dried.

It didn’t.

He finished scrubbing the blood out of his vinegar-soaked robes and washed them too, and finally returned to his whites—which were still pink. They were dry from the sun, too, and seemed clean—just absolutely pink. Curious, he sought the laundress and asked if there was some next stage of washing he was supposed to begin.

She smirked at him and said, “You had something red in the water. Got the dye on the rest. It’s pink for good, now.”

“Ah.”

_You must be joking._

\--

Dorian bathed, cleaning away the sweat from doing laundry, but even grooming himself back to perfection did not really cheer him. His white shirts and bed linens and underthings were all bright pink. He’d found the culprit—a red sock, looking a bit less vibrant now.

He decided to forgo an evening in the library with his stagnating research. He needed that drink.

And then he needed another.

“Saw you watching the Chargers training today, big guy.”

“You must be mistaken. I was terribly busy. Doing _laundry._ ” The word tasted bitter to him now. He’s been quite proud of himself, at first, for learning the skill and being self-sufficient. Now…

The Bull laughed. “Yeah, laundry, real busy. No time at all to watch the sparring when you’re just standing there with a paddle, stirring.”

He sighed. “I may have noted your company’s progress once or twice. Your men suffer from a lack of experience fighting mages. Not,” he was quick to add, “the sort of apostate rabble squirreled away in the Hinterlands. I mean mages of real skill, who can fight alone, not simply as support.”

“You want to give lessons, you’re free to join us any time, Vint. Watching you train is pretty hot.”

Dorian regarded the Bull with a heavy-lidded look. “I’m sure it is not the _most_ attractive sight I can provide…”

The Bull grinned. He was close enough to lean in, which he did, and his next words were purred straight into Dorian’s ear. “You’re right about that. I’d say watching my cock spread that perfect ass open tops the list so far.”

“Mmm,” Dorian murmured back, “there is much you have yet to see.”

“Gonna show me, or do I have to beg?”

He smirked. “Well, I do like a man who’s not too proud to beg…”

“Because I’d do it, but I’d do it right here, on one knee, out loud for everyone to hear exactly what I ask you for.”

The back of his neck burning, Dorian stood. “Perhaps we should relocate first.”

\--

Door barred behind them, several drinks in him to relax things and put him in a good mood—and the promise of orgasms ahead to put him in an even better mood—and Dorian smiled. “Shall I hear your pleas, or shall I simply surprise you with my own wicked Tevinter inventiveness?” He began unbuckling his robes without pretense, as the Bull removed his harness.

Another grin. “Don’t know. How creative you feeling?”

Dorian hung his robes over the back of a chair and began unlacing his trousers. “It depends how daring _you’re_ feeling. There is quite a lot more I can do with magic that I haven’t shown you yet.”

But the expected reply didn’t come, and Dorian looked up, worried the suggestion had been ill-timed. However, Bull didn’t seem to have heard him. He was staring slack-jawed at Dorian’s groin. An odd thing, considering he wasn’t naked yet and he was only mildly aroused, and the Bull had certainly seen more of him. Dorian frowned. “What in the Maker’s world is the matter with you?”

Dreamlike gaze, voice deep and purring—“Your smalls are pink.”

_Vishante kaffas._

Dorian sighed, pushing his trousers down. “Yes, clearly. I’ll thank you not to laugh… _ah!_ ” He startled—there were big hands on his hips, over top of his own hands, stopping him from stripping the embarrassing clothing away and tossing it out of sight and mind. Then the Bull picked him up, threw him on his massive bed, crawled over him, and _nuzzled_ his clothed crotch.

“Laugh? Fuck no. Shit…look at you.” Dorian felt a tongue on the fabric, wetting the smalls, and his cock stirred. Bull’s voice was fast becoming a hungry growl. “Look how pretty it is against your skin. _Damn._ ” The praise—and the licking—were turning Dorian on _fast._ “Shit yeah. Can see the shape of your cock, covered in pink.” Bull mouthed along his shaft. “Fuck, Dorian…”

This was all very surprising, but Dorian wasn’t about to let on. If the Bull was oddly turned on by his mistakenly dyed smalls, Dorian’s first instinct was to act as if that had very much been his plan all along. “All right, hands off,” he ordered imperiously, “and finish disrobing. You know I won’t be in bed with those horrid pants of yours.”

The Bull groaned, but moved to obey quickly, and Dorian scooted away, lounging against the headboard, skin on display, and gracefully opened his legs. He was hard _now_ , and it was obvious. As soon as the Bull was naked, he moved to follow, but Dorian stopped him with a foot against his chest. “Ah ah ah. Patience.” Then he smirked. “Touch yourself.”

“Shit yeah,” Bull breathed, taking hold of his cock—rigid and straining already, Dorian noted. He probably should limit the teasing. “Damn, you’re pretty.” He took hold of Dorian’s foot and licked it, sucking his toes. Dorian shivered, running his hands up the insides of his thighs, brushing fingertips along his concealed shaft. The Bull moaned, pumping his own cock _hard._ He was leaking copiously.

“Are you going to come just from looking at me?” Dorian tried to inject sultry confidence into the question, but he was secretly mostly just amazed.

“ _Nnh_ …probably…ugh, _shit_ Dorian!”

Skin tingling with excitement, with power, Dorian murmured, “Then you had better come _here,_ ” He stroked a line down his abs and over his cock, and he removed his foot from the Bull’s grasp, making room between his legs.

The Bull crawled closer, breathing hard, entranced by Dorian’s undergarments—though he still managed to take in all of him with that lone eye, including his face. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Dorian purred. “Come on my skin. Then I’ll let you see my pink-clad ass.”

The Bull moaned again, stroking himself hard and fast, and Dorian watched, fascinated. He’d seen the Bull’s cock, of course, and he’d sucked it and he’d taken it, but he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to simply _look_ at it, huge and hard in that likewise massive hand, and watch the Bull come.

Dorian didn’t like to think of himself as someone who was terribly obsessed with cock, and he didn’t like to do anything that might be called “cock worship” in bed—unless circumstances warranted an exception. Even so, he watched _intently_ , his own cock throbbing. Bull was just…so very worth looking at.

And then he came, with a choked grunt, and the over-abundant spurts of his release hit Dorian’s skin. It was a warm, dripping mess all over his stomach and groin, staining the pink smalls that were still struggling to contain Dorian’s erection. He rubbed himself a few times, slowly, making no fuss about the mess. He was too hard to care about the filth of it—that was what baths were for. Later.

Then, for a reward, Dorian smirked and turned over—slowly. He held himself up against the headboard, knees spread, and arched his back, emphasizing the curve of his ass, still covered by his smalls.

“Shit…and I thought your ass couldn’t get more perfect.”

That, naturally, was what Dorian liked to hear. “I thought you liked it best with your cock inside.”

“Mmmm…I like that, yeah. Let’s see how good you look with my cock in you while you’re still wearing these.”

“Very well,” Doiran sighed, then felt the smalls pulled to one side. Bull’s tongue swiped over his rim next, quickly starting to push in.

A soft growl. “You’re not too tight. And you smell like your bath salts. Been touching yourself in the bath, Dorian?”

He snorted, arching a regal eyebrow—despite the fact that Bull wouldn’t see it. “I _bathed_. _Properly_.” While thinking about the sparring ring and large muscles, perhaps, but that was not the point. “I do not need to pleasure myself; I’m perfectly capable of finding a lover to enjoy.”

Bull’s oiled fingers slipped inside him, stretching. “So…you’re all loose because of _hygiene._ ”

“Quite. I did _not_ bring myself off in the bath.” Strictly speaking, that was true, though he _had_ been aroused. But he’d endured it and let it pass, expecting a better experience later. So far, he was not disappointed.

“Well, you’re going to get off _now_ , Vint. I’m going to fuck you until you spill in your pretty pink smalls. Going to make a mess of you…” Dorian shuddered, feeling the hot, blunt head of Bull’s cock pushing into him as Bull’s massive hands spread him. “Going to make you come dry by the end, big guy.”

Dorian’s reply died in a long moan as he felt Bull slide into him—deep, so incredibly thick, _so good_. His cock throbbed against wet fabric, leaking profusely, but still trapped. Dorian felt the fabric like a torturous tease—he wanted to grind against it, feel _more_ , but he couldn’t. Bull held him up off the bed, and Dorian just whimpered and rocked back on his cock instead, seeking more friction.

“Shit yeah…look at you. Perfect ass, all pretty in pink, with my cock stretching you out. Fuck, Dorian. I could come just looking at you.”

“Again?” he tried to tease, but it was breathless.

“Yeah. Again.”

Then Bull _thrust_ , and Dorian cried out, and anything mocking or critical he might have said utterly vanished from his mind.

Bull gave him a pounding the likes of which Dorian had only fantasized about before. He rammed his cock in over and over, hard and fast and deep, until Dorian screamed and spilled in his smalls without a touch to his cock. Then Bull slowed, but _stayed inside him_ , and fucked him slowly, almost languidly, giant hands rubbing all over his body—and of course, his ass. Dorian whimpered and Bull immediately slipped a hand around and freed his cock from the semen-filled smalls, letting him recover. And Bull never stopped fucking him—long, easy penetrations, balls deep every time, and just as slowly out again, teasing and toying with him.

In time, his body responded, and as he started to grow hard, Bull took him in hand and stroked him until his cock was as full as before, and aching. Then he picked up the pace—rapid thrusts that shredded Dorian’s ability to think, leaving him brokenly begging for release.

He felt Bull reach his climax, felt the beginnings of it…and then a hand around his shaft brought him off with little more than a perfect squeeze, and Dorian cried out his ecstasy and shook through another orgasm as Bull groaned and bent double over him and lightly bit his shoulder, cock flooding his insides with seed.

When Bull pulled out and laid him down, Dorian collapsed, panting. He was a mess of semen, his pink smallclothes soaked with it, and Bull was staring at him in awe. Dorian reached a weak arm for the man and he came, pressed his overheated body close, and kissed him messily, passionately—wonderfully.

“Damn, big guy,” whispered into his mouth. “You look so good.”

A thought slipped into Dorian’s sex-dazed mind. “My linens…”

“Hmm?”

He gave Bull a look that was meant to be seductive, but was probably mostly bleary. “The sheets on my bed are the same color as these smalls.” Best not to mention why. “It’s not as large a bed as yours, but…perhaps you should fuck me in it, just the same.”

Bull paused, then groaned, sucking hungrily at Dorian’s throat. “Fuck you on pink sheets, surrounded by all that pink against your perfect, dark skin? Fuck yes, _fuck_ yes! I could pick you up and carry you there right now.”

Too tired to be alarmed, Dorian just sighed. “You will do no such thing.” Then, pulling Bull back up to look at him. “However, I will require you to attend me in my bedchambers in the near future. And I expect the performance to out-do this one.”

A huge grin. “You got it, big guy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, PS, World Without End will still update tomorrow, on schedule. This doesn't take the place of an update.


End file.
